


you'll end me and you won't even know

by WolfSpiritHunter



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boscha Needs A Hug, F/F, Feelings, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insomnia, Takes Place After Wing It Like Witches, abstract writing kinda, also the abuse thing is really vague, at least in this one, help me, i dont know i might edit the tags later, possible triggers, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfSpiritHunter/pseuds/WolfSpiritHunter
Summary: She always looks in the mirror, she realizes.It's always her reflection, always that duplicate of her face peering back at her, always the way it stares back with tiredness she wished she would not recognize.It was not supposed to be like that.
Relationships: Boscha has some feelings, Boscha/Willow (The Owl House), Kinda - Relationship, its implied - Relationship
Comments: 20
Kudos: 195





	you'll end me and you won't even know

**Author's Note:**

> Haaa I'm sleep deprived and I wrote this to cope with some feelings. And then I added a bit of boschlow just because.

She always looks in the mirror, she realizes.

It's always her reflection, always that duplicate of her face peering back at her, always the way it stares back with tiredness she wished she would not recognize.

It was not supposed to be like that.

It was not.

She grabs at her hair.

Tugs.

She wants to rip it apart.

Her eyes close and her thoughts repeat.

'Don't think like that. Don't think like that. Don't think like that.'

\-------------------------------

Her eyes open. 

The cafeteria looks pretty packed up today. More so than usual.

It's loud. The associates at her table keep talking, but she pretends she's on her scroll. It hurts her head.

'Don't think like that.'

The pain is bearable, she decides.

She peers around, taking in surroundings and smell and sounds, but her mind is slow today and her vision isn't as sharp. Her mouth feels heavy, and when she registers her food she ignores it. It doesn't feel as fulfilling as it did a few seconds ago.

Her ear twitches. She turns.

A few tables away, three losers make commotion, hurtful for her head but it's bearable, and they laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh-

She sees her glasses glint in the light, red on her face and a grin on her lips.

She turns her head away, connects her scroll to headphones, and blares songs until her head hurts more than ever.

\---------------------------------

The tugs them off after a little while. Her back is stuck to the lockers, her eyes barely open. It's not appropriate for a student like her to keep then on forever. You need to socialize with your friends.

She wants to slink away sometimes. Take a break and recharge.

'Don't think like that.'

It's fine, she decides. She can talk more.

She's alone for now. It's morning. It's early. She's alone.

It's so quiet. Her eyes close. She crossed her arms.

Inhales.

Let's all the air out.

Repeat.

She feels her heartbeat. Hears that steady rhythm of thumps that keep her alive. She feels that magic in her. The potential she is supposed to have. The one she has.

Her arms tighten around her. 

The entrance doors open, and she lifts herself off the locker door to peer around the corner.

Black hair shines, green eyes widen, sharp ears rise and she happily chats with her shorter witch friend.

Her head almost slams into the locker, and she hides away until they pass.

\----------------------------

She rapidly removes herself from the door, intimidating and threatening and angry and everything that screams 'scram before I make you wish you did' but she feels her heart throb and she wants to fall and never rise. It feels so empty, everything does, and she craves more sleep so she doesn't spend an hour trying to cover the dark marks under her eyes every morning when she wants to scream and rip her clothes apart. 

Her rage simmers under her fingers and her hands ball into fists.

The stupid human looks smug, so smug and so annoying like she discovered something she herself doesn't know, and she wants to tear at that face like paper and cry and shriek and-

'Don't think like that.'

Just anger, she decides. She's only angry right now.

The human spouts more out of that mouth, and her hand raises higher and she flings if with all she has at that smug and annoying face.

\---------------------

Her knuckles hit the wall and it hurts.

They scratch on the rough surface and there's a shock of pain shooting up her arm that makes her choke on the knot in her throat. She chokes and chokes but it's fitting so she does it again. She feels her hand go numb, and she switches to the other.

She chokes.

She hits.

She can't even tell where she is.

Is she at Hexide? At home? At a colleague's house? At the market?

'Does it matter? They forget you faster than anything else.'

The knot gets bigger and she wants to scream but her jaw locks up and she can't.

'Don't think like that.'

It's unbecoming, she decides. Good children don't make a scene.

She looks at her hands. They tremble and they hurt and they feel weak. She clenches them, and she brings the base of her palms up to her eyes.

\--------------------

Her hands thread upwards through her hair, a repetitive motion that soothes her in a way it shouldn't. It's loose for once, her hair tie finally ripping apart being her excuse for letting it this way.

She rejects the spare one around her wrist and combs her hair more.

She doesn't want it up. She won't put it up. She doesn't think she'll be able to put it up.

Her eyes keep closing though, for too many seconds at a time, and every single it's harder to open them back up. Everything is so blurry no matter how many times she blinks, and she knows that today will be more silent. Her mouth feels heavy again.

'Don't think like that.'

It's fine, she decides. Everything will be okay later.

\---------------------------

She replies to a question in class, hair loose again. She didn't put it back up for a while.

Her parents didn't notice.

Why should they anyway?

'Don't think like that.'

They're busy, she decides. They're too tired and busy.

They are too tired and busy every day and it's fine.

She sits back down. There are eyes on her, and while it's something usual, there's a difference there that she can't place.

She glances around. 

She catches green eyes, a flush on round cheeks, and the small way delicate fingers tighten on a flowery pen.

She wants to sneer. To growl, to threaten, to humiliate.

Her eyes blur again, and her chest feels empty.

She tears her gaze away and fixates if on the teacher for the rest of the class.

\--------------------------

Her chest heaves and it's not fine.

Her hands shake and it's not fine.

She can't see and it's not fine.

She can't hear and it's not fine.

It's not fine.

She didn't-

She-

Hate.

There's so much hate in her eyes.

She's angry. She's angry. Not sorry.

She will never be sorry.

She sees green eyes, and she sees fear, and it's the way it's supposed to be. She sees trembling, and it's the way it's supposed to be.

They all grovel at her feet eventually. 

She didn't want those round glasses to be stained by tears though.

'Don't think like that.'

\------------------------

She walks like a shadow that day, avoiding everything.

So unlike her. She is supposed to bask in that light of fame.

There are bruises on her ribs, on her hands, and she tied her hair so tight it hurts. Step after step she can feel herself falter, like a pup barely learning to move. Her teeth clench, and she slowly drags her tongue over her teeth, nearly cutting it into her fangs.

She keeps hearing their screams, remembers how intimidating their shadows are, and keeps feeling her worthlessness. 

She knows that. She tries to prove otherwise, but every attempt fails and she withers everything she touches. 

Her knees give out at some point, in front of the Hexide garden. It's night, and it's dark and it's dangerous.

When did she even get there?

She refuses to hunch over, refuses to fall like a weakling, refuses to even show flaws but no matter how hard she tries she can't rise back up.

And so she stays there, vision blurry and back upright while grass blades dig into her knees. She doesn't place her palms on the ground, she doesn't move at all, only breathes through everything, inhaling and exhaling and thinking about how much she wishes she could lay down.

'Don't think like that.'

She'll sleep tonight at home, she decides. Not here.

Everything goes black for a full second, in the distance she hears someone shouting in worry, and she feels the grass as her forearms connect with the ground.

She gets lifted up by her middle section and she bites down on her tongue not to scream. She gets carried but she can't see properly.

\------------------------------

The carpet is pink and red and very much blurry from up close.

There are so many plants around her, green and pink, and sometimes gray. She feels her arms twitch, forearms burning as they have for the past hour, trying to get up, get up and get out and get home-

(Where even is she-)

(When did she-)

(How-)

They always give out at the last second.

She was a star athlete. She couldn't even do a simple push. She couldn't lift herself up this time.

And so she lays down.

And waits.

Her arms feel sore, her bruises hurt, her legs feel weak, and she wants to sleep so bad.

'Don't-'

Later. She will decide later.

Sleep. She wants it.

She feels a vague hand land on her shoulder softly, but her mind is too fuzzy, and before she knows it she passes out on the pink and red carpet.

(Everything smells like ivy.)

\-----------------------------------------

She gasps, sitting upright and almost slips out of the bed.

Bed. This is not her bed. Why is it not her bed? Where is she? How did she get here?

Her chest feels a bit constricted, and she looks down to see a large healing patch on her chest. Her arms are covered in them as well.

She feels vulnerable, she feels exposed, she feels weak.

She tries to move but for some reason, everything feels like it's burning and this time she can't march through it. She lays back down, and she looks at the flowery ceiling, full of vines and leaves of different shapes.

It reminds her of a wild garden.

She vaguely looks around, and she sees green. Green green green-

Exactly like her uniform. Like her eyes. Like her.

"You're finally awake, " she hears, coming from the wooden doorway. Her head swivels so fast she almost gets a whiplash.

And she's sitting there, one hand on the knob, the other held tightly to her chest. She looks a bit anxious, but concern swims in those eyes, and it out weights everything else.

Why... Why concern?

"Willow... " Boscha breathes, and she regrets it because Willow looks so surprised and it hurts since 'she didn't think I knew her name'.

And she lets it hurt.

Suddenly her chest constricts with uncertainty and fear and everything bad that she shouldn't feel and she breathes differently.

Instinct makes her sneer. "Where am I?"

The other flinches and everything about her instinct feels wrong.

"You almost collapsed in the gardens. You wouldn't respond to anything, so I took you to my home. No one was in Hexide at that time of night, so I couldn't ask for help there." She nervously shuffles her feet. "You had really nasty bruises, so my papa used some of his leftover healing patches on you."

She breathes and feels them slide against her chest.

She doesn't say anything.

Willow looks more anxious now. "Does... Does it... Do you feel any better?" She whispers and Boscha thinks back to the Grudgby match where she had a fire in her that left her staring in a way she shouldn't.

She only dumbly nods, head swimming too much for a coherent response.

The way her face beams makes her heart feel less in pain. She slowly swallows, only now aware of how parched her throat is. She clenches the green sheets (green green why is everything so green like her-) and looks down in her lap, refusing to look at that joyous face.

"Please..." She lowly speaks, voice scratchy. "Can I have some water?"

The way she hears hurried footsteps getting farther away makes her want to-

To cry.

Does she deserve to cry? Does she? Can she allow herself to cry? 

Willow...

She wants to rip her hair again. 

'Why did you think she would even consider it? You hurt her! You hurt her friends! She hates you as everyone does. You wanted that. You wanted to be feared.'

She digs her fingers further in the sheets.

She tries to breathe, but her throat stings with every whiff of air she drags. 

She can't -

She hates this-

Why did they have to-

Why-

A hand taps her shoulders and she jerks away so fast like she's been burned.

Willow brings her hand back as well, shock on her face. "It's me."

Yes, it's her. It's her, and that's the problem but her eyes feel too wet for her liking she wants to scream again but her she locks her jaw. 

Willow gently moves around to sit next to her on the bed. Every move she makes is so gentle and slow like she's waiting for a scared animal to jump at her. She looks at Boscha but Boscha can't really see her. Her vision is blurry again.

"I brought you water, " she softly whispers and she almost chokes on the knot on her throat.

"Why?" Is out her mouth before she knows it, jaw painfully moving against her wishes.

Willow looks confused for a second. "Because you asked for it, " she says, stretching out her arm to offer her a glass of water, "and because you need it."

She looks between the glass and the soft curve of her lips, and she swallows, something akin to needles traveling down her throat. 

Damn it, it hurts.

She lifts her hands, but for some damn reason, they keep shaking whenever she gets close to finally taking the glass. She growls, rage hot and burning in her chest, and grabs her hand with the other, gripping and gripping to make it stop already-

The plant witch rests a hand in her forearm, making her completely freeze up. She's... Warm. And soft.

"Do you want me to help?"

Instincts kick in.

'Snarl, bite, don't let her see how weak you are.'

But her hands start shaking again.

She closes her eyes, something wet sliding down her cheeks and she nods once, slowly.

Soft fingers lift her chin, and she lifts and she follows their gentle pressure. She feels something coil in her stomach at the touch, too new to be pleasant.

It's not bad though.

She looks at her again, green eyes framed by dark glasses, and she will never admit how she wanted to cry under that gentle gaze. There's something against her lip, and she drinks from the offered cup.

Her throat almost sings in pleasure.

Willow leaves after that, something about talking to her dads, but Boscha feels too tired to remain awake any longer.

\--------------------------------

The next day at school, after another night of not sleeping (her dreams were starting to be filled with flowers and green and the scent of ivy) she comes across the trio of loser dangling from a pole upside down, somewhere near the entrance.

She walks right by, refusing to look at them as she twirls a finger inside her jacket and they all slowly start descending and softly land on their feet. 

There are too many people around them to see who did it, and she enjoys that thought. She dares to look over her shoulder, and her heart almost stops when she notices Willow smiling, a small wave being subtly directed at her.

She bristles and starts walking faster inside the huge building.

'Whatever.'

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments they make my day! :D


End file.
